


Destitute in the Moonlight

by Deathofme



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Minor Violence, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-23
Updated: 2011-09-23
Packaged: 2017-10-23 23:25:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/256261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deathofme/pseuds/Deathofme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The moon shone down from the sky, pregnant and indomitable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Destitute in the Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written as a dark Christmas ficlet for Sbrande, who requested a dark Lupin/Hermione fic that involved the werewolf transformation.

He growled, pupils dilating and rancid breath furling into smoky plumes in the brisk night air. Blood flecked his snout and the taste of it still remained in pockets of his mouth.

 

She flew at him, enraged, and it was only with a neat dancing of his paws that he managed to protect his side and snarl at her in rebuke. This incensed her further and he could hear the frustration and agony grating in her throat as she howled miserably.

 

The moon shone down from the sky, pregnant and indomitable.

 

Her fur was torn and matted along the bony curve of her haunches. It was flesh he had ruptured and massacred with serrated maw. The venom running in his saliva contaminated her virgin flesh and planted a dark seed deep within her, in full bloom in front of him now. Whatever protestations she previously had about wishing to understand him and be like him was lost now. She was angry, feral under the moon and naked to her despair.

 

The man inside him wanted to scream her name, but the foreign muscles and lungs could only produce unearthly wailing.

 

 _Why? Why did you ask this of me?_

 _  
_

She snapped at him again, clamping down on the scruff of his neck. Snarling, he pushed her off, biting down on her wound and causing her to whine in pain. She rolled onto her side, a deep growl still rumbling in her chest, but he ignored her. Stepping lightly over her he pinned her down, snarling when she tried to resist, and waited for her to finally submit.

 

It took a lifetime for her to comply. Her yellow eyes narrowed to slits and her ears flattened against her head. Deep within the Forbidden Forest he bit her one last time to make sure she knew her place, and settled against her, genitals enflamed and swelling.

 

Inside, the man screamed and screamed and battered his fists against invisible walls. Unheard and unheeded.

 

***

 

Devastation laid the scene. The morning sun greeted two pale bodies hidden away in the brush, ashamed to be revealed to the light.

 

Hermione stirred, her bones humming with pain and sending out bell-like chimes of despair. Remus could feel her fingers twitch and grasped blindly for them, unable to lift his head from the ground.

 

"Remus," her voice was barely a whisper.

 

He couldn't answer, he felt as if he had died and woke again in a cold place. She stirred against him, her body beginning to shake with sobs.

 

"It hurts."

 

"It always does," he groans.

 

She pushed herself up on weak elbows, trying to come closer to him, her belly dragged on the ground like the shamed viper cast out from Eden. They wore nothing but their skin and their blood, he could see it caked around the long scratches on her back, and some even dried on her thighs.

 

Pathetically they inched towards each other in the shade, broken, bruised and in need of each other, whether they wished it or not.

 

Remus felt his heart straining against his chest, ready to explode with the exertion of just reaching for her. After an agonizing moment when all his muscles began to scream, he felt her, her tickling hair, and quickly clasped her to him. Her tears were hot and sticky against his chest, and wherever he touched her she began to cry afresh, the slightest contact causing her wounds to flare up again in protest. He could feel her lips mumble against his skin, "it hurts, it hurts, it hurts".

 

They clutched each other in the shadows of ancient trees, in servile to the night and to the merciless, beautiful moon.

 

He ran a sore tongue along her bottom lip, dried blood dissolving and weeping new droplets. She tasted, oh, she tasted of copper and spit and dirt and regret and shame and dashed aspirations.

 

He could only think in the dark of his mind that this was what he had asked for.

 

FIN


End file.
